by Ash Krafton
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Ash Krafton
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Words That Bind
by
Ash Krafton
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Words That Bind
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Ash Krafton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-560-9
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-561-6
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Ash Krafton
First Place Winner, Paranormal
RWA Heartland Romance Authors
“Show Me The Spark” 2013
~*~
Third Place Winner, Fantasy
Pikes Peak Writers Zebulon 2014
Dedication
Dedicated to my Beloveds...
my husband, my children, my family
~*~
In loving memory of Caro...
my nerdian angel
Acknowledgements
I’d like to acknowledge the professionals who were instrumental in the development of Words That Bind.
Migdalia Gunoskey is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who has worked in the mental health field for sixteen years. Currently, she’s an elementary school social worker who works closely with children and their families. Her professional experience includes working as a Crisis Intervention Worker, a Mental Health Delegate, a Partial Hospitalization Program Director, a Mental Health Technician, and as a High Risk Clinical Care Manager. Ms. Gunoskey currently resides with her family in Pennsylvania.
Dr. Carolyn M. Kaufman received her Bachelors in English and Psychology from Otterbein College and her PsyD. in Clinical Psychology at Wright State University. She was an Associate Professor of Psychology at Columbus State Community College, where she passionately taught for over ten years. Carolyn also loved gardening, photography, painting, web design, and writing. She authored The Writer's Guide to Psychology. Dr. Kaufman was also an integral part of the Query Tracker Blog, which is dedicated to assisting writers on their journey to publication.
I am fortunate to be able to call on Ms. Gunoskey whenever I need her objectivity. Regrettably, Dr. Kaufman passed away before this book was completed. I think about our conversations every time I open this book and I hope I’ve made her proud.
—Ash Krafton
Chapter 1
Damn, but this was a miserable city.
A miserable city, in a miserable season, with a miserable chilly dampness oppressive enough to put out the hottest of fires. If he didn’t have to be here, he’d be reclining on a low couch surrounded by silken-clad women and the open sands of the high desert.
If he didn’t have to be here, he wouldn’t be standing in a cramped parking lot in an East Coast city—Really? East Coast. The very thought made him curl his lips in disdain—staring up at a balcony three floors up.
If he didn’t have to be here, he wouldn’t. But it was here, and it was close, and he wouldn’t have to put up with this permeating on-again off-again rain much longer.
The thought of it being so close made him dizzy enough to sway on his feet. Ah, well. Wearing a human form had so many limitations. Take skin, for instance. And this ridiculous human obsession with trousers.
A loud argument erupted on the balcony above, catching his attention.
Women. Of course. Emotional, volatile, dangerous, loud…sometimes, good qualities. Especially where low couches could be found.
On balconies, peppered with vulgar language…just annoying.
Still. It was here, its presence burning like a dull itch in the back of his brain. That particular sensation, too, was annoying, but after so many decades of not feeling it all, it was a good kind of annoying. One that soon would be quenched.
Forever.
Suddenly, the sensation brightened, became sharper, clearer, like the full moon sliding free of the clouds. The argument stopped.
Ah. Finally. He turned up the collar of his overcoat against the nip of a sudden breeze and tilted his head, scanning the balcony, watching. Waiting.
A young female with tousled purple hair hunched over the railing, resting on her elbows, trying to light a cigarette. Repulsive things, cigarettes. Lacked elegance. Why not a hookah, or even a slender golden pipe? This modern age was all substance. No style.
He unfocused his gaze and looked through the girl. Nothing remarkable about that female whatsoever. She had nothing to do with the object of his desire and so was of no consequence to him. He disregarded her completely.
Another figure appeared at the rail. Another female. This one seized his notice, snapping his spine ram-rod straight.
Long chestnut hair swept in waves over her shoulder, hiding her face. He zoomed in on her and almost fell flat backwards, buckling under the smacking impact upon his heart.
Her. She had it.
Suddenly, the low gray clouds burned off in a blaze of summer brilliance, so great was the feeling in his chest. Hope. Hope eclipsed centuries of despair in that single moment.
She had it!
He side-stepped the BMW behind him, wanting a better angle, wishing to see her face. So intent was he upon the other woman that he nearly missed the cigarette that sailed past his cheek to land on the car. He curled his fists, an oath on his lips. He should be used to the crude behaviors of mortals, but still, how it bristled against his insides. Obviously, they’d been raised by very different mothers.
Then the woman turned, and his scowl melted from his face. Her dark eyes met his, a split-second connection that felt like the bite of an electric current. His heart tripped on a beat and he gaped.
Remarkable. This noisy, chaotic city where all was a tangle of technology and confusion and those odd diagonal streets—she stood out: a straight line, a calm constancy, the eye within the storm. He was confounded by the impression of her psyche. Unique was too com
monplace a word.
A place to sit. He rubbed his mouth, staring up at her. To sit would be good right now. He didn’t want to end up on his knees, not here amidst the puddles and wet leaves.
The young girl twisted around and hopped up on the rail. Odd. The railing didn’t look wide enough to make a comfortable seat. Well. Considering her choice of hair color, he wasn’t surprised by her action. Obviously, she was a little off.
He thumbed the edge of the business card in his hand, one that bore the address and the name of the counselling center to which the balcony belonged. Of course, she was. Why else would she be visiting a therapist?
Apparently, the bird reconsidered her perch, because she disappeared in the next moment. A piercing shriek sounded, loud enough that he had to cover his ears. It only lasted a few seconds, however, followed by a few more desperate shouts.
And then there came no sound at all, except for the traffic and the sparrows making a racket in the hedges bordering the parking lot. The women and the mental itch had retreated back into the building.
He stood a few moments longer, watching the balcony, hoping for another glimpse of her. But the remarkable woman and that wonderful sensation did not return.
He brushed his fingers together and tugged his suit jacket straight. No matter. She may have that which he sought, but she did not need to come back out.
Because he was going in after it.
And this time, he was going to get it.
Chapter 2
Therapist Tam Kerish had been on her way back to the therapy room when a loud argument erupted from within. One voice stood out, louder and sharper and decidedly more desperate than the others.
Bethany. Again.
Several clients with borderline personality disorder gathered each week to attend a skills-building group session. Sometimes, personalities clashed. Tension had been brewing during the first part of the meeting, a tension that felt like an impending storm.
That storm had finally broken.
Tam sprinted the last steps to the door and shouldered it open. Several people had lined up at the window, spectators to the catfight on the balcony. Tam cut through the crowd and pushed her way out onto the balcony.
Two girls fought on the veranda, a young man struggling to keep them apart. Bethany was all claws and punches and screams; the other girl punctuated Beth’s tirade with sharp snarky remarks of her own. Between them, his glasses askew, cigarette clamped between his teeth, the guy did his best to avoid Beth’s jabs. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The other counselor, who had remained in the room during the break, tried to corral Beth with outspread arms. He only provided the girls with a secondary target.
Bethany’s voice pitched higher as she leveled a new round of accusations.
“I’ll take her from here, Bill.” Tam tapped the counselor on the shoulder. “Please take the others back inside.”
Beth bounced on her toes like a boxer, looking ready to spring. Tam stepped in front of her and blocked her with a steely look and a silent, raised palm.
“What happened here, Bethany?” She used the smooth tenor of her voice to soothe the girl. “I was only gone long enough to use the ladies’ room.”
“That whore!” Bethany spat the words. Her face was blotchy, mascara staining the tears streaking down her cheeks. “She just came out here like it was all her business and me and Derek were having a smoke and she says I better keep my hands off her boyfriend—”
“Breathe, Bethany, just breathe.” Tam wrinkled her nose against the acrid sting of smoke. A cigarette smoldered nearby, abandoned on the edge of the deck. “We can talk better if you calm down. Let’s focus on the coping skills we’ve been working on.”
“Coping skills? You want me to cope? She was supposed to be my friend, not some boyfriend-stealing bitch!”
“Slow down.” Tam spread her hands, palms down, and eased the pace of her words. Bethany usually responded to calming vocal cues. “Let’s work through this.”
The girl dug her fingers into her hair at her temples. “Derek didn’t even break up with me first. He did say—but that was last week so we got past it.”
“What did he say?”
“He said we should break up and I said no, Derek. We can’t break up. It takes two people to break up and I’m not breaking up with you.”
Tam nodded. Sound reasoning, considering. Unfortunately, emotions and reason didn’t often see eye to eye. “Then what happened?”
“I tied myself to a porch chair because I wasn’t leaving him. He had to see I wouldn’t ever leave, I love him too much, and—” Beth hid an embarrassed giggle behind her hand. “He picked me up and put me out in the street. But he got me before a car came. See, we made up. We were still good. But now—”
Her lip quivered. “You know me, Tammy, I’m not bad. I just—I just don’t know why people leave. It doesn’t make sense. We are all people, aren’t we? Aren’t we the same?”
“No, we’re not.” Tam shook her head. “Not everyone feels everything full blast the way you do.”
An unspoken thought bobbed along in the wake of her words.
Some of us don’t feel anything at all.
Beth hung her head and slouched over the railing, pulling a cigarette from a pack in her jacket. Her hand shook so hard she couldn’t light it. Issuing a frustrated growl, she threw the cigarette over the side.
It tumbled through the air, just missing a man standing next to his car. The cigarette bounced off the windshield and landed on the ground, still damp from last night’s chilly April rain.
“Lucky cigarette,” Beth mumbled.
“How do you mean?” Tam kept her voice mild, but her mind had already clicked into high gear.
“Just saying. When you’re useless, you should just get tossed over the side.” She rested her forehead on her hands, gripping the rail.
“That’s not a solution to your situation.”
“You don’t think?” Beth rolled her head back and forth. “If I was dead, my boyfriend couldn’t cheat on me. My so-called friend wouldn’t steal him. And my therapist wouldn’t be taking sides against me.”
Traffic from the nearby street kept a steady pace, unrelenting. “I don’t take sides, Beth.”
“And you don’t get it, either.” Beth lifted her chin and cast a disdainful glance over the rail. “It would be such a shame to mess up that Beemer down there. But it’s better than living through this crap.”
“We talked about this. Death isn’t a solution.”
“No. It’s an escape. I’m tired of this. Everything hurts, all the time, and I can’t trust anything or anybody and how about this, Derek?” She raised her voice enough to get their attention inside. “Is this enough of a break for you?”
Beth hopped up on the rail, her back to the Philadelphia skyline beyond, the openness and the free fall below. “All it would take is one little push and you’re through pushing me around!”
“Beth.” Tam’s voice dipped lower, full of warning. “Come down from there.”
“I can do it, Tam.” Beth stared down her nose at the therapist, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. A bold smile ghosted across her mouth before she swallowed it down again. “I should do it.”
Beth closed her eyes. Spread her arms. Lifted her feet.
Her weight shifted backward.
Tam snapped out her hand and grasped Beth by the wrist, yanking her back onto the deck. The momentum swung the girl past her and Tam pivoted, side-stepping her and pressing her against the wall.
She braced Beth with one forearm across her upper chest and pulled the pin on her personal alarm with her free hand. An ear-piercing whistle sounded, an electronic scream for help.
“Sorry, Beth. Not today.” Tam’s voice remained level and composed. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”
The door was yanked open by a thickly-necked man from security. He placed a firm hand on Beth’s shoulder, gently reining her in. Grasping her
upper arm, he craned his head to avoid her wild punches.
Beth squalled like a cat in a bag as he guided her back inside.
“The quiet room, please, Charlie,” Tam said.
“No, not the blue room.” Beth twisted her head to look back at Tam, her eyes big and white. “Tam, please. There’s no windows. I hate that room—”
“It’s just for a little while, Beth. I’ll be there in a little while.”
The guard led Beth away, circling around the group, who stared and shifted nervously in their seats. Her now-ex-boyfriend’s face was pinched and dark. He didn’t even flinch when Beth kicked his chair.
Beth wailed the entire way, screaming Tam’s name, her voice cut off by the closing door.
Tam pulled out her phone and texted her partner. Bethany Peters threatened to harm herself. She’s upset and not thinking logically. File a petition for an involuntary commitment.
“Now.” Stowing her phone, she glanced around the room, a professional smile sliding effortlessly into place. “I think we need to process what just happened. We witnessed intense emotion just now. Would anyone like to share their feelings?”
Twenty-five minutes later, she signed the waiver that would recommend the girl to a hospital stay. What a waste. The environment would stifle the girl, cause her to withdraw. The cycle was predictable. And repetitive. All the progress they made—
That she had assumed they’d made.
Beth was impulsive, hostile, and showed little to no harm avoidance. Separation anxiety and social phobia. Chain smoker and state lottery addict.
And she’d just been dumped by her boyfriend. During group.
“Thank God it was you who got to her first.” Dolly Rivera took the form and tucked it into her briefcase. Within the hour, Bethany would be picked up by crisis workers and taken to the behavioral unit of the hospital three blocks away. “Anyone else would have added to the fire. I don’t know how you do it, Tam.”
Tam shook her head. “I don’t know how they do it.”
And she didn’t. She had never suffered an emotional outburst like Bethany had. She’d never suffered an emotional anything. What was she missing? Was any of the pain even worth missing?